


To Thine Own Bright Eyes

by rufeepeach



Series: From Fairest Creatures [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mirror Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Pregnant!Belle, pregnancy porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Belle's figure continues to fill out, she needs to buy some larger bras. Gold goes along to help out as her personal "fitter".</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Thine Own Bright Eyes

Belle had dearly hoped that, due to being naturally small, slender and petite, her pregnancy would not have a disproportionate affect on her body.

She had been wrong. The last six months had been by turns horrendous and wonderful, and sometimes she was certain that when her husband told her she was ‘glowing’ he was mistaking the sheen of sweat that covered her for the warmth of motherhood.

And then there was the clothing issue. Parts of Belle’s body were expending in unpredictable ways, which made shopping for hours for perfect - if expensive - little dresses and skirts was out of the question. Belle needed comfort, and an elasticated waistband. For a woman who had always taken pride in her appearance, who liked her heels and little skirts, this was a blow. Belle just didn’t feel like herself wearing pants with elasticated waistbands or maxi dresses all day.

Her last refuge had been her underwear. For all they’d grown somewhat larger and more sensitive, Belle had been grateful not to grow more than one cup size in six months, and that still well within the range the lingerie stores stocked. She could still feel pretty and sexy and feminine under her clothes, even when all else failed.

But then, almost exactly as she entered her third trimester: Belle outgrew the bras she’d bought inly months earlier, and found herself down to one ugly beige brasserie she’d bought as a precaution she’d hoped never to use.

Rumpelstiltskin found her crying on their bed, when he came up to announce breakfast was served. “Belle?”

She looked up miserably into his concerned face, and he came quickly to sit next to her, and wrap his arm around her bare shoulders. She was sat in just her pyjama pants and the ugly beige bra, and she could see why he was worried. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve outgrown everything, Rumple,” she sniffled, miserably. “All my clothes, even my underwear doesn’t fit anymore. I’m a fat ugly whale and if you say I’m glowing I’ll know it’s a lie.”

“You’re not fat,” he soothed her, “you’re pregnant, you’re sharing your body with our baby. And even if you weren’t, you could be three hundred pounds and I’d still think you were beautiful.”

“I know, I know you think so, but I still miss my clothes,” she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s ridiculous, I’m so happy we’re having this baby, Rumple, I am, it’s just… I feel like it’s taken over me. I don’t look like myself anymore, and now even my bras don’t fit. I’m stuck in this!” she gestured to the beige monstrosity, and Rumple dutifully looked. She saw his eyes glaze open, his mouth grow slack, and she gave a wet little giggle, “You can’t even see the bra can you?”

“You asked me to look at your breasts, Belle,” he complained, never moving his eyes upward. “What can you expect?”

“At least someone’s happy about this,” she sighed, sadly, and he tore his eyes from her cleavage and pulled her close, kissing the crown of her head.

“Tell you what,” he murmured, “how about we go shopping this afternoon, find you something prettier that fits? Maybe try a little further afield this time?”

Belle nodded, and Rumple pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “Now, breakfast?” he asked, hopefully, and Belle nodded with a smile, and pulled on her shirt to follow him downstairs.

The drive to the next town over was relatively brief, and Belle was thankful that - for now - they could leave town without repercussions.

A quick internet search had revealed a larger lingerie store about an hours’ drive away, so they set off midmorning. Belle held her breath as they crossed the town line remembering, as always, the terrible events that had occurred there. Then they were speeding through the woods, Storybrooke behind them, and Belle found herself breathing easier. Not for the first time, she wondered if perhaps, someday, they should leave Storybrooke permanently, especially given their child on the way. Their baby deserved to grow up somewhere safe, somewhere he could grow without witches or evil curses getting in the way.

She said none of this to Rumple, but she knew he must feel the same way. His magic was gone now, after all, there was no reason for him to want to linger, save his attachment to Henry. For all her friends in Storybrooke, Belle knew Henry was the only person she’d truly miss either.

The town they pulled up into could have been Storybrooke itself, and she sighed with disappointment. “I’d hoped the outside world would be… different, somehow?”

“The Curse was designed to assimilate, so that the Cursed part wouldn’t be obvious while the Saviour grew up,” Rumple informed her. “It probably modelled itself on this town, actually, as the nearest settlement. He glanced at her sideways, then, as if catching something in her tone, “We’ll see the rest, in time,” he promised. “Once the baby’s old enough to travel, we’ll go see it all, just as we planned.”

Belle nodded, and smiled as they pulled into the parking lot of the Pink Ribbon Boutique.

Once inside, Belle was lost to a world of pretty, appropriately-sized lingerie. Rumple melted into the background, close enough to help but far enough that she could browse without interference. She’d taken her measurements that morning with Rumple’s tape measure, so the saleswoman directed Belle to the correct sizes, and Belle gasped with delight: there was no bland, boring beige in sight, and she could see a dozen designs she was already in love with. 

Rumple watched on with an indulgent grin, and Belle marvelled at how lucky she was to have a husband who’d dedicate a whole day to this without a word’s complaint, and whom she knew would love her in anything she chose. She didn’t have to cater to his preferences: he would still think she was stunning in that ugly beige thing, so the rest was up to her.

Everything she picked, she picked for both style and comfort. But she did see a little set, lacier and lighter than the rest with a matching briefs, that would be utterly impractical, that she had to have. It would accentuate her larger breasts to perfection, and she knew once Rumple saw it she wouldn’t be wearing it for long. She stashed it along with the rest of her options, and then asked about the fitting rooms.

“I’ll be right out here if you need me,” Rumple told her, taking a seat on the plush pink sofa outside the dressing rooms. The saleswoman disappeared back to the front to greet a new customer, and they were alone.

Belle tried on several of her options, and found some more suitable than others. She decided to buy two thirds of her choices, and seeing herself in the prettier lingerie lifted her spirits immeasurably. She looked like herself again, she thought, round belly and breasts notwithstanding. 

She looked at the lacy bra at the bottom of the pile. This was what she’d chosen for Rumple, his reward for being so wonderful, because for all she knew he’d love her in a trash bag, he had his preferences just like anyone else.

It was pale, blue lace, with satin cups that rose so shallowly that her rosy nipples almost showed through the lace lining the tops. The lace had just the slightest gold shimmer to it, which she knew he’d enjoy, and was woven in a pattern that resembled roses.

She’d never wear it outside the bedroom: it was too impractical, and it was hardly comfortable for long-term use. And, she reasoned, there was no point in buying it if he didn’t like it.

The fact that trying on all these different bras had lead her to thinking more and more about how gently, how tenderly he’d remove them to get to her breasts to kiss and suck and bite… the fact that in putting them on and taking them off, her hands had slipped several times, and she was so sensitive there now, her hormones heightened and sending her dizzy… no, none of that was a factor in her next decision.

She slid the bra on, thankful it almost matched the underwear she’d brought with her, and called quietly, “Rumple?”

“Yes, darling?” he answered, immediately, coming to the curtain.

“Could you just take a look at this?” she asked, trying not to sound inviting, to sound husky and low and wanting, and failing miserably. She’d been turned on for the past half hour, a combination of the underwear and her hormones, and it was hard to remember that their privacy was an illusion, and that they were really in public.

He stepped inside, and she saw him carefully rearrange the curtain behind him before he really saw her. When he did, she watched in the mirror as his eyes darkened, pupils blown as he took her in. “Belle,” he murmured, low and deep, the rough tone she knew so well that reverberated in her pelvis.

“Do you like it?” she asked, fiddling subconsciously with the straps. “I ah… I thought I’d get it for you.”

“For me?” he asked, snickering softly, his hands coming to rest on her bare belly, head on her shoulder. “I don’t think it’d suit me.”

The thought of him in the lacy French knickers she hadn’t tried on for hygiene reasons sent an odd jolt of desire through her, but she shook that off: just hormones, she thought, stupid hormones making her lustful and wet and wanting in public. 

“I meant to wear for you,” she specified. “You know, as a thank you, for being such a wonderful husband.”

His hand slid up her belly, to her ribs, to cup one of her heavy, full breasts in his hand. She could feel his warmth through the satin cup, and she shivered, her eyes slipping closed.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her, his mouth against her skin, a kiss to her shoulder, to her nape, to the side of her throat just below her hairline. His mouth met her ear, and he whispered, “But you’re divine.”

She shuddered all over at that, the combination of words and sentiment sending her spinning. She watched in the mirror as his second hand joined his first, cupping both breasts as his mouth continued to kiss and suck at her neck. Her own hand arched up behind her, to tangle in his hair and hold him to her neck, the other resting on her belly. “I told you you weren’t ugly,” he rumbled into her throat. “You’re an angel, my angel.”

“I’m pretty sure angels don’t, ah,” she panted, as his fingers tweaked her nipples and sent shockwaves of desire through her belly to her swollen folds. She felt the dampness there, the liquid pooling from his words and his touches, and she shuddered again. “I don’t think they do this. Not in public, anyway.”

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, raggedly, “I… I can’t magic us out of here if we get caught, anymore.”

“We can be quiet,” she whispered. “And if anyone comes we’ll pretend my hair got caught in the clasp or something.”

She caught his eye in the mirror, and marvelled at how wild he looked like this, his hair tangled from her hand, his eyes wide and dark and full of desperate want for her. He nodded, slowly, and she tried to turn in his arms, to kiss him, to tell him they didn’t have to: they could go and have sex at home, safe in their bed.

He stilled her with a stern pinch to her breast that had her gasping. “No, no,” he whispered. “Just watch.”

His hand slid lower, back down over her belly, and he stroked her there gently for a second before continuing, to tug her knickers down so they fell to her feet. She watched, breathless and awestruck, as his fingers carded through her damp curls, spreading the liquid there, up and over her swollen clit, aching and begging for attention. Belle was enraptured: she’d never seen this before, not so clearly, this easy manipulation of her flesh that brought so much pleasure, and was so much dirtier in public like this, when they could be caught at any moment.

“You called yourself ugly, earlier,” he rasped, as his left hand went back to fondling her breast, squeezing it and teasing the nipple through the satin cup. His hand reached in and drew her breast out, and Belle gasped at how lewd the tableau looked in the mirror, him fully dressed in his dark, immaculate suit behind her, and she with her knickers pooled at her feet, pregnant, her pink folds glistening with desire, and one heavy, full breast bared. 

“Do you see now?” he asked, as two fingers slid into her, gently, carefully, and his thumb rubbed at her clit above, while his other hand continued to torture her breast. “You’re gorgeous, my Belle,” he murmured, and her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes falling closed, but he tutted into her ear, and nipped at her lobe. “No, no,” he ordered, “eyes open, sweetheart. I want you to see. I want you to see how lovely you are, flushed and pretty and round, my goddess.”

She quivered and shook in his arms, trembling and boneless, as he teased her higher and higher, her flesh hypersensitive to his touch. “You’re beautiful when you’re tiny and pretty, but you’re stunning all round and full of our baby,” he told her. “These breasts are larger because they’ll feed our child, and your belly is round to keep it safe. I love you so much, my sweetheart. You’re perfect.”

“I love you too,” she panted, wriggling in his arms, held up only by his firm touch and by the steady presence of his body behind her. She was close, so close, his hands working her to perfection, but holding off, just a little, not quite taking her there. She was a breathless, wet mess in his arms, and she could see it all in the mirror, see what a lustful wreck she became at his hands. It was filthy, beautiful, and the most erotic thing she’d ever witnessed.

Anyone could walk in, she thought, and see them like this. See his hands on her, see how close she was to an intense climax, see how wet and willing she was for him even here, in public, while pregnant. See how deeply he desired her, even with their baby in her belly, even when they could be caught. The thought just excited her even more, made her tense and buck and moan, until he had to breathe “shhhh” to quieten her.

“Say it for me,” he breathed, his own voice strained, and she could feel his hard length poking into her back. “Softly, sweetly, let me hear it. Tell me how beautiful you are.”

“I…” she panted, and shook her head, but he was relentless, and knew her body too well: his thumb left her clit, his fingers withdrawing from her entrance, and he went back to stroking her, teasing her, keeping her on the edge without letting her come. “Please…” she whispered, and he shook his head, grinning like a demon over her shoulder.

“You just have to say the words, my love,” he told her, teasingly. “And I’ll let you come so hard you can’t see.”

“I…” she took a deep breath, shaking, and then finally her desperate need got the better of her, and she managed, “I’m beautiful. We’re beautiful,” she added, “Together, like this, in love and with our child on the way.”

The words were like magic, and Rumpelstiltskin went back to his former ministrations with gusto, driving her to the peak in seconds and letting her fall, as the hand on her breast rose to cover her mouth instead, muting her moans and whimpers as she came and came, jerking and bucking against his fingers. He gathered her into his arms, and held her tightly for a long moment, rocking her and littering her face and hair with kisses, her legs to weak to stand, her whole body trembling with aftershock.

“We’re buying this one, then?” she asked, hazily, when she could speak and stand again. He nodded, tightly, and she realised he was still hard in his pants, and they’d been in here too long already to do anything about it now.

“Yes,” he said, “And… ah… all of these?” he asked, gesturing to her large ‘yes’ pile.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Uh… do you wanna go bring the car around while I pay?”

He nodded gratefully, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before somehow, by some great skill, managing to walk out normally without being obviously pained by his straining erection. 

Belle dressed in a daze, and wandered out to pay for their purchases, already thinking about ways to repay the massive favour he’d done her in the dressing room stall, and alleviate his needs. Turnabout was fair play, after all.


End file.
